


Retribution

by TricksterOcelot



Category: Kingdom Hearts
Genre: AU, Crimes & Criminals, Gen, Organization XIII - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-11
Updated: 2014-11-12
Packaged: 2018-02-12 17:45:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 16,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2119020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TricksterOcelot/pseuds/TricksterOcelot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Once part of a twisted company known only as the Syndicate, these assassins suddenly find themselves fighting to restart their lives and leave their pasts behind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, I'm Raii, this is a crime AU that I've had floating around in my head for like half a year now and I'm finally getting around to posting it. It pretty much only includes Kingdom Hearts specific characters. This chapter only contains Xion mostly, Namine and Roxas briefly, and Axel and Demyx very briefly, so if you're here for one of the others, they'll show up later.  
> Thanks for reading! <3

            Rain poured down onto an already drowning city, a city drowning in crime and broken promises, failing under the pressure of a million secrets and dangerous organizations. Water clung to anything that remained stationary, be it inanimate or living, and mingled with any substance present, even joining the blood already pooling around the feet of a cloaked figure clinging to an alley wall, gasping for air.

            The figure ripped off the frayed gloves barely covering her hands in order to properly run her fingers over the brick, drawing strength from the reality of the rough texture, and relishing the fact that she still had some remnants of feeling after all. She ran one hand down to her side, feeling the wound beneath her tattered cloak. Despite all the bleeding, it did not seem deep enough to be dangerous, and so she pressed her palm against the gash, gritted her teeth in pain, and shoved off from the wall, stumbling slightly as she worked to get her shaky legs working again before continuing down the alley towards the center of the town.

* * *

 

            Xion had always thought that she could trust the company she worked for, they had raised her, cared for her after her parents’ death, so even if their motives were unclear and their methods were shady, they couldn’t be that bad, could they? Her best friends, Roxas and Axel, also worked for the company, and she was even allowed to rise through the ranks, eventually gaining the honor that came with the title of “Nobody”. So whatever the company asked of her, she would carry it out to the best of her ability. Besides that, this assignment was the assassination of some girl her age. She considered herself well-trained, even daring to dream that she was stronger than the others who carried the same title, since she was specially trained by the company.

            Despite Xion’s attempts to build up her confidence, something about the name Naminé left a bitter, reeling taste in her mouth. The mission itself seemed off, instead of a starchy, formal file printed entirely in a crimson ink the colour of dried blood (which she often romanticized to be actual blood, written by some gaunt, sunken faced individual with a taste for rare delicacies and the driest wines ever fermented), the name and address was hastily scribbled on a torn piece of notebook paper by some wanna be rock-star type, who claimed he was also a Nobody and when he went to investigate the situation, the target had asked for a Xion, and he had spent _all_ day searching for her.

            But he did check out, he had the brand and he knew everything about the mission, so she decided to take a chance and trust him. So although she had never met him before, had never heard of a mission being passed from one Nobody to another, and with the full knowledge that her target would be waiting for her fresh on her mind, she agreed, much to his obvious relief. Besides, she had thought dreamily, maybe it was a date with destiny.

* * *

 

            “Destiny, huh?” she spat bitterly, blood leaving her mouth with the harsh words. She had paused again, her breathing growing more ragged after having forced herself to break into a run. Xion focused her thoughts into every single way she would maim and torture that mulleted punk if she ever saw him again; allowing her mind to travel into darker, morbid ideas, trying to keep it processing enough to keep herself conscious, functional, and alert to any possible dangers. The coast seemed clear, and traveling through the alleys was her usual way for staying out of the sight of anyone who would seek to do her harm, but at this point nothing was safe.

            Xion decided to risk what was left of her life anyway, and slumped down against the wall, allowing her body to relax and try to regain some semblance of strength to continue on towards her safe haven. The girl changed her thoughts towards what Naminé had told her, the information that had drastically altered her mindset and entire life just a week ago. The information that caused her to spend a week more than she should have digging though this backwards town, a town which to her used to be so promising and bright, but now was tarnished under the weight of the knowledge she needed so desperately to share with Roxas and Axel before the three of them traveled to somewhere safer with an opportunity to rebuild their entire lives.

* * *

 

            Once she finally made out the address on the messy, crumpled note, she found herself in front of an astonishingly well-hidden mansion on the outskirts of the city. She found it bewildering, and incredibly exciting that she had never known about this building despite having lived in the town for the entirety of her life. The mansion itself seemed as though it had been there since the beginning of time, the bricks composing the walls faded and crumbling, in some cases having deteriorated to the point where it seemed as though the creeping vines climbing the walls were the only reason the building remained standing.

            Xion paused at the door, taking a deep breath as she was overwhelmed by the feeling that something in this mansion was going to change her life forever. Garnering up courage that she hadn’t thought she would need, she shoved through into the unknown, hoping that whatever it was, it changed her life for the better.

            The inside of the mansion was just as dilapidated as the outside; broken, cobwebby furniture lying intermittently throughout a large foyer, sunlight streaming through areas where the roof hadn’t been able to hold out over the years, the patches of carpet underneath faded from the extensive exposure to the sun. Xion crossed the main floor warily, noticing a bright light that seemed out of place in the dull mansion leaking out through a crack in an upstairs door. The stairs creaked under her feet, and she had a brief vision of herself falling through the stairs, forever trapped in the moldy wreckage, no one able to find her in such a well-hidden location. She shuddered, and quickly rushed up the remaining stairs.

            Xion paused at the door, catching her breath and taking the chance to unsheathe her keyblade, which she probably should have done earlier. A faint scratching noise could be heard from inside, and her mind raced with the possibility of creatures that could be waiting for her in the room beyond. Taking a deep breath and tightening her hold on her keyblade, she pushed through into the waiting light.

            No matter what she had imagined, nothing quite matched the scene waiting for her. The room was blindingly white; the walls, the floor, the single table, even the dress of the girl who sat with her back towards the door. If it weren’t for the other girl’s hair and the multiple, colourful drawings littering the floor, the walls, and the table, Xion would have thought she had stepped into an empty, colourless void.

            “I’ve been waiting for you, Xion.” The girl’s voice was clear and bright, and Xion immediately felt relieved, although those were generally words that should have put her on edge. She sheathed her weapon and walked towards the girl, who still hadn’t felt threatened enough to turn away from whatever she was working on. One of the drawings on the wall caught her attention, and with a jolt she recognized herself, Roxas, and Axel.

            Unease returning, Xion’s eyes flicked to the other pictures, realizing that many of the figures in the pictures were wearing coats similar to her own. She identified a picture of the guy who had ultimately sent her here, and even a hastily scribbled drawing of her boss, Xehanort. Xion turned to the girl sitting at the lone table, wondering what was being portrayed in the picture currently being coloured.

            “How do you know me, what is this place?” Xion asked, her hand finding its way to the hilt of her keyblade.

            Naminé didn’t reply, instead setting down her crayon and holding the freshly completed picture up to Xion. “Have you ever heard of Hallow Bastion?”

            Hallow Bastion? Of course she had heard of it, a nearby town in the process of being built, spreading across the ruins of an older city known as Radiant Garden. It was a sprawling mess that was probably an hour away by train, but could be vaguely seen from the top of her favorite clock tower or from Xehanort’s office in the Syndicate Headquarters. She reached for the picture, and Naminé handed it off without a word.

            “What about it?”

            “Have you ever thought of moving?” Was she really going to answer every question with another question? Xion studied the picture, which was a decent representation of Hallow Bastion despite being completely drawn with crayons.

            “To Hallow Bastion? Why would I do that? I am loyal to the Syndicate, and besides, I’m not going to just leave Roxas and Axel.” Her target just gestured to a chair at the opposite end of the table, which Xion hadn’t even noticed previously. Xion studied the other girl silently, before making her way over to the chair and obediently sitting down. She wasn’t quite sure why, but it seemed like Naminé had something important to relate. Besides, it wasn’t as though Naminé was in any position to attack, and chances are Xion would be able to outrun her anyway.

            “I’m afraid I have some bad news about the Syndicate, and I figured if anyone would listen, it would be you or Roxas. I’m afraid your life is about to be turned upside down.” Naminé looked sad, as though the information she was about to relate was weighing her down and she was reluctantly passing the weight to Xion.

            “I’m ready.” Xion nodded. If this was her date with destiny, she would face it without fear.

* * *

 

            Just how idiotic had she been? Xion had listened as Naminé told her the horrors behind the Syndicate, that most of the targets were innocents, and how Xehanort was planning something absolutely terrible. She was horrified to find out that part of Xehanort’s plan was to do away with the entire Organization project, which effectively meant all of them – She, and Roxas, and Axel, the mullet guy, and any of the rest – were going to be “eliminated”.

            Of course, that hadn’t been the worst thing she had learned that night. She and Roxas hadn’t been orphans; they had been kidnapped, stolen for the singular purpose of being raised to completely trust the Syndicate. Xion had barely heard the next part, and almost wished she hadn’t, because it made the entire situation even more devastating.

            Her sister? She was there to kill her sister? The girl sitting across from her, that was her sister? Xion had just stared, working hard to understand what she was being told. It was all a lot to process in one night. Naminé hadn’t been kidding when she had said Xion’s life would be turned upside down. They had sat in silence for a while, and Xion eventually excused herself, nodding slightly to Naminé as she crossed the room, mind swirling with emotion and confusion.

            “Please, Xion, please get out of here while you still can.” The words rang in her ears as she rushed out of the mansion. She had to find Roxas and Axel, and more importantly, she had to get out of Twilight Town before they were all killed.

            Why couldn’t she have found her friends sooner? Usually they were easy to find, but neither had been at the clock tower at all that entire week. Xion was at a loss of what to do. She couldn’t just leave without them.

            Now she was wishing she had, now she was injured, wouldn’t be able to save them, and would more than likely just slow them down.

            Frustrated tears streamed down her face, salt mixing with the iron tang of blood building in the back of her throat. She shoved herself up from the ground, determined now more than ever to at least make it to her clock tower.

            After what seemed like an hour of laboured running, she finally hit the well-worn steps, unsure of where she was getting the energy to climb them. She did have the energy though, reaching the top of the stairs with enough victorious excitement that for a split second she thought she was going to be okay after all.

            “Xion. I finally found you.” A familiar voice, one that she had hoped to hear all week rang out behind her, muffled slightly by the rain. She jumped slightly, and instantly regretted it, wincing as a sharp pain stabbed through her side.

            “Roxas, I’ve been look-”

            “Wait, Xion. I need you to listen to me first.” Xion could barely make out her friend’s face under his hood, but she could tell his expression was grim. She reached towards him, wanting to comfort him but not entirely knowing how.

            “Xion. I’m so sorry. I don’t understand what’s going on in the Syndicate, but I’ve gotten this order-” He shook his head and turned to look out over the town.

            “I know what’s going on, I met with this girl, you’ll never believe who it was. Roxas, I have so much I need to tell you!” Xion wobbled slightly, despite making it to what she assumed was safety and finding one of her friends, she wasn’t going to last much longer without help.

            “I’ve been sent to kill you.” Roxas stared at the ground, avoiding Xion’s bewildered glance.

            “What?” Xion shook her head, this wasn’t happening.

            “Xehanort wants you dead, I don’t understand why.” Roxas looked up, and took a shaky step towards her, his hands up.

            “No… you wouldn’t.” Xion stepped backwards, vaguely aware of the tower’s edge.

            “Xion, wait!” Roxas lunged towards her and she jumped backwards, trying to save herself. Her feet slipped on the wet brick around the same time as her legs gave out, and she felt nothing but air under her. She wasn’t able to understand fully what this meant, her dizzy, blood-loss affected brain doing its best to process Roxas yelling for her while getting farther and farther away. She wasn't even conscious by the time her body slammed into the hard pavement at the foot of the tower.

* * *

 

            Roxas was barely aware of the rain soaking through his coat as he watched the activity around his best friend’s body at the foot of the tower. He was barely aware of the tears streaming down his face, or his own legs giving out and causing him to sink to the brick with a thud. It wasn’t until Axel showed up to lead him away did Roxas even remember that there was a world surrounding him. This was never a contract he intended to keep.


	2. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lex and Axel are the only two that show up in this chapter, thanks for reading! <3

A huge figure stood completely cloaked in the elongated shadows of a nondescript office building, their features hidden underneath a long black coat. Lexaeus stood there for a few minutes, unmoving as he silently studied the seemingly average building, something he had been doing for about a week now. He had seen very few people enter or leave the building, much unlike any actual workspace. The ones that did also never went up to any of the other levels, those lights never flicking on, and a closer look into those floors revealed furniture covered in a thick layer of dust and more than a few cobwebs. This must mean that only the first floor, and perhaps a basement contained anything worthwhile; the rest of the building only existing to aid in maintaining the “average” appearance.

            The man pulled something out of his pocket; a skeleton key that had been specially prepared by another ex-member of the Syndicate. He had been lucky to find the other ex-assassin before he had left town, and was even luckier that he had been willing to prepare the key as an exchange for destroying any and all information of his the Syndicate had on file. Lexaeus had immediately agreed, but of course that all relied on whether or not the key actually worked.

            The door clicked open sharply, and Lexaeus was hit with a blast of icy cold air, making him wonder if he hadn’t accidentally gained access to the company morgue. Flicking on the lights dispelled that fear, and he scanned the room, only seeing rows and rows of filing cabinets and bookshelves. The building was empty, much to his relief, as he was not really in the mood for a fight. He also was hit with the realization that the files he wanted would most likely be hidden in plain sight, and if he wanted to find them, he had better get started. It was best to assume that his time here was limited, and if anyone were to discover him, his time as a free man was as well.

* * *

         

 

By his calculations, Lexaeus had been digging through files and paperwork for at least twenty minutes, and had yet to find anything of interest, unless someone was interested in how much the Syndicate spent on pencils and how many hours their desk employees worked. There had to be something he was overlooking, some small drawer or shelf tucked away in plain sight that contained the files. Unless they weren’t in this building after all. Lexaeus crossed his arms, leaned back against the nearest filing cabinet, and began to plan out his next course of action.

Even while lost in thought, Lexaeus did not miss the creaking of the door. He immediately grabbed his weapon, a large club, from his waist, ready to face whoever had entered. He wasn’t ready for the lights to go out, or for whoever had come into the room to be completely silent. His grip on his club tightened, as he backed up against the cabinet so at the very least he couldn’t be stabbed in the back.

“Well, can’t say I was expecting to find anyone else in here,” a smooth voice purred in his ear. Lexaeus wasted no time in swinging his weapon up, slamming it into the cabinet with a solid thud. His target had moved, but Lexaeus was both faster and more prepared than the other man had expected. Lexaeus’ free hand grabbed the mystery intruder’s arm, and he slammed him into the cabinet, holding him there as he struggled, trying to free himself.

“Hey, woah, relax, I swear I’m on your side, no need to attack me like this.” The voice was calmer than Lexaeus had expected it to be, and he was immediately certain that this guy believed Lexaeus wouldn’t harm him. Which he wouldn’t, at least not yet, because he wanted to know who he was and why he was here. Keeping a tight grip on his club, Lexaeus released the other man’s arm, ready to strike if the other suddenly attacked.

A click from the other’s direction made him bristle up, and he raised his weapon to knock him to the floor. He stopped when he realized the click was from a lighter, which the other man lifted enough so that Lexaeus could see his face.

A young man, probably early twenties stared back at him with bright green eyes that seemed to glow in the presence of the flames. He had small tattoos under his eyes, and ridiculously bright red hair that was slicked back in spikes. He was also wearing a very recognizable black coat, nearly identical to the one Lexaeus owned. Lexaeus immediately committed his appearance to memory; he had a feeling this would not be the last time he would see this other assassin.

“Axel,” the other spoke suddenly as he tugged down the neck of his coat just enough to reveal the top of a familiar branded scar, “Got it memorized?” Axel then stared at him expectantly, and Lexaeus revealed the top of his own.

“So I was right, you are one of us. I mean, not everyone can have one of these jackets, right? Cool.” Axel immediately turned and walked off, taking the only light in the room with him. Lexaeus watched him walk off through the rows of files, and Axel glanced back briefly. “I assume you’re looking for the same thing I am? Or are you just that interested in payrolls?”

Lexaeus had a feeling Axel thought he knew exactly where the files were kept, and a wave of distrust swept over him. This building was supposed to be kept secret to most of the Syndicate’s employees, which was why it was so difficult for him to find it. How had Axel even managed to get into here anyway?

But at the moment, finding the files was more important than figuring out exactly who Axel was, and with caution Lexaeus followed Axel to another average looking shelf at the back of the room.

“Hmmm,” Axel muttered, and then he stepped back and gave the bottom of the cabinet a swift kick. The front of the cabinet crumpled where it was hit, and the cabinet came crashing down at his feet, revealing a solid, shiny black door with the assassins’ brand symbol embedded in it.

Axel produced a small key card seemingly out of nowhere and slid it through a barely noticeable crack in the door. There was a small beep and the door slid open neatly, revealing another pitch black room.

“After you,” Axel waved his arm and bowed in an extremely exaggerated fashion. Lexaeus stared at the red head, who had somehow managed to keep his hair from catching fire despite the lighter being mere centimeters from his head, and then into the newly revealed room. He half expected this to be some kind of trap, but walked through the doorway, having to stoop down to make it through. Once inside, he turned to watch as Axel entered after him, flicking a switch that caused the lights to blink on and the door to slam shut behind him with an ominous clang.

Not really much for conversation, are you?” Axel asked, but he didn’t seem to be expecting an answer as he ran his fingers over a shelf of fourteen suspiciously thick files. “Might as well start at the beginning,” he muttered, pulling out the first file and flipping it open.

“Eh, Xehanort’s brother, who cares?” Axel tossed the file to the ground as Lexaeus’ eyes widened in shock.

“Brother?”

“Oh, so you _can_ talk,” Axel feigned shock, and Lexaeus raised an eyebrow in response. Axel shrugged as he lightly kicked the folder on the ground. “I guess the boss’ brother should be more interesting, but honestly, I have other things to worry about.”

Axel was already flipping through the next few files, but apparently they hadn’t contained anything interesting as he tossed them down without so much as a second glance. Lexaeus noticed a picture of the assassin who had made him the key sticking out of the third file, and bent down to pick it up. Before he could, however, Axel had already tossed the next file on top of it.

“See something interesting?”

“I promised someone I’d destroy their file.”

“All in good time,” Axel replied, moving onto the next folder. Lexaeus straightened back up; apparently Axel had a plan for getting rid of these things himself.

“Lexaeus?” Axel turned to him with a smirk. “What a mouthful. And aww, it says here you won’t take hits on women or children, what a nice guy.” Lexaeus glared, and Axel flipped the folder shut. “Care to read your entire life story?”

Lexaeus shook his head. His goal was to leave the Syndicate behind, all he wanted was for the folder to be destroyed, and he assumed Axel would be taking care of that. And so his own file was added to the heap.

“Well, well, well, you might actually be interested in this one.” Axel handed him the file and Lexaeus felt his blood boil.

“A twelve year old?” He growled, and Axel nodded, reaching for the next file.

“You gonna take care of that?” Lexaeus nodded, taking the first page of the file. There wasn’t any way he would let the Syndicate continue to use a child in such a manner. He made a silent vow to find and save Zexion, whoever he was. Axel smirked, and flipped open the next folder. Suddenly Lexaeus felt a change in the room’s atmosphere, and he noticed that the relatively animated character that was Axel had stopped cold.

“Find something in your own file you didn’t want to see?” Lexaeus asked, tossing the rest of the child’s folder to the ground and committing the name Zexion to memory.

“Not… not quite,” Axel replied weakly, engaged in the information he held. Lexaeus watched a wide range of emotions play across Axel’s face, before Axel suddenly slammed the folder shut and regained his laid-back composure. He tossed the file to the ground and moved onto the next one as if nothing had happened.

“Oh, here we go, this guy looks familiar, right?” Axel held his own profile up next to his face. He then placed it back on the shelf, and Lexaeus wondered if he meant to keep a hold of it. If that was the case, why was he destroying the rest?

“Just need two more now, then the fun can begin.” Axel cracked his knuckles excitedly and grabbed the next few files from the shelf. “A musician? Nope. Gambler? Nope. Oh, now his guy’s title is the ‘Graceful Assassin’. Like we aren’t all assassins. And pfft. Check out pigtails here. Huh. What a bunch of weirdos.” He tossed the files down.

“But who cares about those guys, right? This means these two,” Axel grabbed the last two files, “Are the ones I’m interested in.” Axel opened them briefly, a look of pain and possibly guilt on his face. He shut them slowly, and grabbed his file off the shelf. “Sorry Rox, but I can’t have you finding these.”

Lexaeus watched as Axel pulled out his lighter, holding it dramatically under the three files. Just before the flames caught the files, a knock on the door and a booming voice jolted the two assassins to attention.

“We know you’re in there, get to the ground. We have orders to terminate you, so let’s not make this more painful than it needs to be!”

The two stayed frozen in place, before they both attempted to react at the same time. Axel moved faster than Lexaeus could, slamming his elbow into the larger man’s chest and shoving him to the floor. He then stomped down between his shoulder blades and called out to whoever was on the other side of the door.

“Please help, I’m unarmed.” A group of four guards entered the room, their guns trained on both Axel, who had his arms up defensively, and Lexaeus, who was trapped on the floor in pain.

“This maniac has had me trapped; I was trying to protect the Syndicate’s information.” Axel whined. The guards exchanged what Lexaeus could only guess was a suspicious glance, but one eventually motioned for Axel to come stand beside them. While Lexaeus was sure he was going to die, he was relieved by the release of some of the pressure on his chest and back.

The guards moved closer to Lexaeus, the head guard speaking to him, telling him that “if he had any peace he wanted to make, he had better do it now”. All Lexaeus could manage was an apology to the kid he had promised not twenty minutes ago that he would save.

“Forgive me, Zexion.” Lexaeus braced himself for his inevitable fade into oblivion.

“Ready…” Why hadn’t he just killed Axel when he had the chance, he should have trusted the instinct that told him Axel would be nothing but trouble.

“Aim…” The laser sights from the guns flashed across his eyes, and he averted his eyes, catching a brief glimpse of Axel digging through his pockets. Lexaeus could swear the other assassin was grinning like a madman.

“Fire.” The red head shouted, swirling to the side of the guards and whipping up his lighter and a can of aerosol. The air filled with flames and soon the panicked and anguished screams of the guards. Axel dove down and grabbed at Lexaeus’ arm, pulling him to his feet, and the two shoved their way through the agonized would-be murderers and into the other room.

Axel kicked at the door, and it slammed shut behind them. Axel motioned for Lexaeus to shove a large filing cabinet up against the door. Lexaeus hesitated, but the pain in his ribs, which were most definitely broken, told him it was best to not argue with the unpredictable firestarter. The cabinet served to help muffle out the screams that were already fading on their own, but did nothing to stop the smoke that was seeping out from behind the door.

“I’ll meet you outside!” Axel’s eyes were gleaming wildly, and a manic but gleeful grin split across his face. He shoved Lexaeus in the general direction of the door before taking his lighter and aerosol to any shelves unlucky enough to be near him. Lexaeus ducked down to the ground, the smoke already thick enough to make his breathing even harder than it already was. The man was lucky he was not the type to panic, as he continued in what he hoped was the direction of the door.

He finally made it to the exit, bursting out into the fresh with a huge breath of relief. He moved to the other side of the street, turning to watch the carnage he had left Axel behind in. The building was entirely engulfed in flames now, the fire threatening to spread to all of the surrounding buildings if something was not done quickly. A crowd was gathering, sirens were blaring, and chaos seemed to reign over a once peaceful night. He watched the mess grow for at least twenty minutes, no one paying him any mind as they all rushed to complete their heroics. In all of the panic and pandemonium, there was still no sign of the other ex-Syndicate member. Despite the pain in his ribs, he felt a twinge of something at the apparent death of Axel, although if it was regret or just guilt he couldn’t tell.

A hand suddenly landed on his shoulder, bringing out of his thoughts and causing him to swing an arm up in defense.

“Calm down, big guy. I just saved your life, didn’t I?” Axel was leaning heavily on Lexaeus for support, panting as if he had just finished running a marathon.

“My life wouldn’t have been in danger if it weren’t for you.”

“Still counts.” Axel huffed. “How’re your ribs?”

“Broken.”

“Well that’s a bit regrettable, isn’t it?” Lexaeus shot Axel a withering look, but Axel’s attention was focused on the burning building, which finally groaned and collapsed inwardly.

“Isn’t it beautiful?”

There was definitely something off about this guy, but somehow Lexaeus had to agree with him. Not because of the massive amount of damage or the roar of the flames or the mayhem of the crowd, but because this felt like the first step to freedom, to moving on past the oppressive control of the Syndicate.

“Better get out of here, you know we’re going to be number one targets right now.” Axel’s hand lifted from his shoulder. Lexaeus turned to acknowledge his statement but Axel was already gone, lost in the still growing crowd. He would have to remain cautious around that one, he seemed dangerous, and was definitely unpredictable. Lexaeus would find out more about him later, but right now there was a more important mission. He unfolded the first page of Zexion’s profile. It was about midnight, and Lexaeus figured he should be able to reach him before the break of dawn.

Or at least that was what he hoped as he made his way away from the panicked crown and into the dark city.


	3. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woo let's see, Zexion, Xigbar, and Lexaeus are in this one. Thanks for reading!

Fear and pain were two feelings that Zexion was not used to dealing with, at least not from himself. He was smart enough to know that fear was a pointless emotion, and how much does a twelve year old with advanced manipulation skills and higher than average intelligence have to fear anyway? As for pain, very few things sought to hurt him anyway. Maybe his targets did, once they realized what was going on, but they never got the chance to act on it.

So when the bullets ripped through his shoulder and abdomen, the pain he felt was excruciating and the fear that came with it was panic inducing.

Immediately dizzy, his first instinct told him to make his way to the Syndicate’s headquarters, where there would surely be guards there that would protect him. This idea crashed to the ground when he realized through eyes blurred with tears of pain that his attacker was wearing a long black cloak, identical to his own. The Syndicate would not be helping him after all.

Zexion calculated his next move, turning sharply down an alley as he decided to head to his home, the only other place that was accessible and relatively safe. A sinking feeling in his gut told him that his own home could not offer him anymore safety than being on the street would but he was desperate, and fear, pain, and a lack of blood was clouding his judgment.

Despite having thought he was running at top speed, Zexion realized he was barely doing more than stumbling along. His attacker was merely walking a few steps behind him, toying with him. Zexion felt a sinking feeling in his gut, but his mind did not stop planning.

“Please, please leave me alone, I’m just a kid,” he whimpered, hoping to appeal to whatever sense of humanity his attacker had. He doubted it would work, but maybe he would get lucky, maybe this person would feel bad enough to help him instead of finishing him off.

“As if,” his attacker drawled, smashing his rifle into Zexion’s side and slamming him into the nearest wall, which caused the child to crumple to the ground. “Sorry kid, ‘sjust business after all.” The assassin held the gun to Zexion’s chest, holding him down against the wall. If Zexion did not do something quickly, his end would be as short and violent as most of his life had been.

“W-wha kind of coward anon-anonymously attacksa child?” Zexion spat, trying to buy himself time. He could feel his words slurring dangerously and was annoyed by how pathetic he must sound right now.

“Probably the same kinda coward who pretends to be a _poor_ , _scared_ , _defenseless kid_ in order to kill people,” the assassin laughed humorlessly, but reached his free arm up to pull his hood off. In any other situation Zexion would have laughed at his attacker’s appearance. A gunman with only one eye? No wonder he hadn’t hit anywhere vital the first time around. Still, adrenaline started to kick back in and Zexion saw his opportunity.

His hand tightened on a knife he kept in his pocket. Mustering up as much strength as he could, he swung it upwards and dragged it across the assassin’s face, hoping he would hit his other eye and render him completely blind.

The assassin howled in pain, knocking Zexion over with a blind swing of his rifle. Zexion’s knife went flying out of his hand, but he kicked upward into his attacker’s shin, staggering him and causing him to drop to the ground.

Zexion scrambled to his feet in a sudden burst of determination, taking off down the alleyway. Bullets whizzed past him, but luckily none hit their intended target.

Somehow after running for what seemed like hours, Zexion made it to his house through a haze a pain. He turned the last corner, feeling altogether victorious. Of course he had outsmarted the other assassin, how had he been afraid at all? He felt the fear lift, and even the pain seemed to dull with the inward praise he was giving.

Lost in the glory of his own success, Zexion didn’t notice the other cloaked person standing in the shadows of his doorway before it was too late. He collided solidly with the other assassin, and his blood ran cold as he realized what was happening.

“No,” he whimpered, as the hooded figure grabbed his arm and dragged him into the darkness of his own house, a place that had held a promise of safety it couldn’t keep.

Fear and pain were not feelings Zexion was used to, but they were the last things he felt as his thoughts faded and he slipped into the terrifying depths of unconsciousness.

* * *

 

Lexaeus was initially alarmed by the state the boy was in, covered in blood and seemingly close to death. However, instead of panicking he examined the wounds, realizing that they weren’t nearly as dangerous as they appeared and had actually stopped bleeding. Luckily for Zexion, whoever the Syndicate had sent after him enjoyed playing with their targets.

The kid stayed unconscious as Lexaeus wrapped up his wounds with the few bandages he had left in his pockets, figuring he would never be able to find anything of use hidden among the multitudes of books scattered in the tiny apartment. It didn’t even look as though the kid had any furniture, and Lexaeus felt a pang of pity.

A loud bang and an angry screech could be heard from outside the apartment as Lexaeus finished what small amount of doctoring he could do. It seemed as though Zexion’s attempted assassin had found his way to the right alley, and Lexaeus racked his brain to try and remember if there had been a trail of blood leading into their hiding spot. It didn’t matter, because even if there hadn’t been, he was sure the assassin would find them in no time. As far as he could tell, the Syndicate only hired skilled workers, and tracking an injured child wasn’t a difficult task.

Lexaeus slung the kid over one shoulder, bracing himself against the door with the other. He held his club in his hand as he waited for an opening to appear.

“Aw, come on ya little brat,” a bitter voice spat from right outside the door. “You think I’m not going to find you? As if!” Lexaeus tightened his hold on the kid as the voice outside grew louder, and something banged against the door.

“How much time do ya think ya’ve got left? You’re probably gonna bleed out anyway, might as well come out n-” Lexaeus slammed through the door, completely ripping it off its hinges and catching the other man off guard. Wasting no time, he brought his club up and slammed it into the other assassin, sending him careening into a wall. The assassin collapsed with a groan, and showed no signs of getting up.

Despite his anger, Lexaeus decided not to finish him off. The guy was just doing his job, even if it was a job he didn’t agree with anymore. Besides, chances were that this failure would make the assassin the Syndicate’s problem, and anything that would cause trouble for the Syndicate bought him more time to get away.

So Lexaeus ran, not really sure of anything except the kid’s shallow breathing and the immense pain in his own ribs. Slamming through the door had not been the best idea he could have come up with in regards to his own health, but that wasn’t important at the moment. Zexion needed medical attention more desperately than he did.

He stopped to breathe for a moment and to check on the kid, who was still unconscious. Lexaeus wracked his brain to come up with a plan, a place to go, but nothing was coming to mind. Suddenly he remembered the man who had provided his skeleton key, and how he said he was skipping town for a larger, sprawling city that could both hide his past and provide for his new existence away from the Syndicate.

Hopefully Hallow Bastion would fulfill those promises for him and Zexion as well.


	4. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let's focus on Xigbar, alright? Also Xehanort is here heck yeah. Thanks for reading!

            Xigbar wasn’t entirely sure how long he had been lying outside Zexion’s house, crumpled against the wall in a heap of pain, self-pity, and a lack of desire to go crawling back to the Syndicate. He was already in trouble for failing one mission, and now he had managed to get his ass kicked by a twelve year old. It wasn’t entirely his fault though; he hadn’t expected the twelve year old to have what he assumed was a golem protecting him. Come to think of it, the other failed mission wasn’t exactly his fault either, it seemed like his target had disappeared off the face of the Earth anyway.

            But seriously, who was that giant anyway? Obviously another assassin, but was he already working with the kid? Where they both set on the same target when the other had a change of heart? Xigbar wished he had gotten a better look at him, he would never hear the end of it if the giant that had attacked him had been his other target that he failed to find earlier. Plus, if that was the case, then both of his targets had turned the tables on him, which was embarrassing to say the least, and most certainly infuriating.

He brought a hand up to his face to wipe away the blood that was still oozing out of a long but thankfully not very deep lesion. The kid had missed his other eye by centimeters, and Xigbar spat out a few curses. This wasn’t going to gain him any points with the boss. Although it might earn him some sympathy. Heh. As if. Still, he pushed himself up off the wall, forcing his aching muscles to carry him across town towards the looming form of the Syndicate’s headquarters.

* * *

 

“So what exactly happened?” Xehanort stood with his back turned to Xigbar, staring out a large glass window that overlooked all of Twilight and Traverse Towns, and even gave a glimpse of the sprawling, distant mess that was the rebuilding city of Hollow Bastion. Xehanort’s voice sounded calm, as usual, but Xigbar had been working for him long enough to know that his boss was absolutely livid. Of course, Xigbar had been running the entire situation through his mind throughout the long, painful journey to Syndicate Headquarters, and he wasn’t exactly thrilled with what had occurred either. Xehanort had promised easy kills, things that were sure to bring victory. Instead, both targets had escaped his grasp, and he had yet again been injured doing Syndicate work. Xigbar definitely wasn’t bad at his job either, boasting one of the highest success rates. It was almost as if Xehanort was trying to make him fail.

“Look, you told me this was gonna be _easy,_ how was I supposed to expect-”

“So you let your guard down. Didn’t you learn _anything_ from when you were sent to face the mayor’s bratty kids?” Xehanort spat, turning to face him. Xigbar flinched back, touching a hand to his eyepatch, and then running it up through his grey streaked hair. Before that battle, he hadn’t even known that wounds could cause permanent grey hair, and it hadn’t really been a discovery he was pleased to make. Not to mention how much losing an eye had really put a damper on his depth perception. He was drawn out of his thoughts when he realized Xehanort had said something and he had missed it, adding to the bald man’s anger.

“What was that, boss?” Xigbar smiled warily, more of a submissive grimace than anything.

“I _said,_ you have failed me yet again Xigbar, and I am not pleased. What do you think I should do with you, then?” Xehanort waved an arm across his own coat, enough so that the deadly looking keyblade he kept on him was revealed. Xigbar gulped, recognizing the threat and the meaning behind it.

“Heeey, now let’s not be so hasty, I’m still useful to you, right? Surely you still have something you need me to do?” Xigbar waved his arms nervously, backing up a little. He didn’t like showing this much distress, but he was hoping it would appease Xehanort and that he wouldn’t end up dumped in a river somewhere.

Xehanort was silent, turning to study the sprawling cityscape below him again. The silence was agonizing, and Xigbar shifted back and forth, wishing he could nervously fiddle with his rifle. Taking out his weapon in Xehanort’s presence was sure to be an act of treason, and that wasn’t something he could risk at this point. Finally, after what seemed like hours, Xehanort laughed harshly before crossing the room to his desk, and digging in the drawer where he kept all pending assassinations.

“Of course you are. In fact, I’ve got the perfect opportunity for you to redeem yourself right here.” Xehanort pulled out an incredibly thick file, waving it in Xigbar’s direction.

Xigbar eyed the file with a mixture of relief and anxiety. A file that thick usually meant someone dangerous, but this meant that Xehanort wasn’t going to have him killed off just yet.

“I’m giving you the opportunity to rid the Syndicate of the problem giving me the biggest headache right now. Do you think you can handle that? Or are you going to fail me yet again?”

“As if. What do you take me for, boss? A few mistakes are nothing, I promise I’m still one of the best you’ve got.” He crossed the room, reaching eagerly for the file. Xehanort smirked, which was unusual for him, but shoved the folder into Xigbar’s hands before striding away, hands crossed behind his back.

The file was bigger than Xigbar had thought it was, and he filed through the ideas of who it could be. He knew the boss had a brother, and there was a good chance this was his file. He almost burst with pride. Of course he still had the boss’ trust, and he’d be sure to carry out such an important mission with one hundred percent accuracy. He smirked, flipping open the file to confirm his target.

The smirk froze on his face, and he stared at the picture of his target without really comprehending it.

“This is… This is some kinda joke, isn’t it? You really got me this time.” Xigbar laughed nervously, flipping through the rest of the file with increasing panic, hoping to see a different target in there, to confirm that the front page was just a mistake.

“You have five hours. If your target is not dead in that time, I will find someone else more capable to complete your mission.”

“Boss?” Xigbar said weakly, still waiting for the older man to turn away from that dumbass window and confirm that the file was a joke.

“You are dismissed, Xigbar.” Xehanort reached over, pressing a button on the wall, and Xigbar heard the elevator doors slide open behind him.

Xigbar stayed frozen in place, still staring at the file he held in his now shaking hands. A voice in his head was screaming for him to pull out his rifle and go down in a blaze of glory but he wasn’t exactly fond of the whole “going down” part of that. Besides, chances are the guards would be able to save Xehanort and the whole attack would be for nothing. Eventually he felt his legs begin to move and lead him to the waiting elevator.

The doors slid shut with a bang behind him, and he jumped, shakily making his wall over to the wall and sliding down. Xigbar spent the entire elevator ride staring down at the picture in the file, willing it to change.

It didn’t.

Xigbar eventually stumbled out of the elevator, crossing through the lobby and studying the guards’ faces to see if they had any idea. They seemed to be well aware, a few nervously turning the safety off on their pistols, not a single one saluting him as they usually did.

The sudden severity of the situation hit Xigbar harder than the other assassin had earlier, and he dashed out of the Syndicate Headquarters, running to try and find a location where it didn’t seem to be ominously watching him. His body was screaming in pain, and his face had started oozing blood again, but those were the least of his worries.

A sudden dash of inspiration had him running towards the train station. He’d just leave, of course, he’d go somewhere where he wouldn’t be found. Like Hallow Bastion; just because the boss could see it from his window doesn’t mean he’d be able to find him there. Xigbar felt a wave of relief, before the realization that Xehanort more than likely had cameras around the train station hit him, and he realized that if he wanted to get out of here, it would have to be on foot, or he’d at least need to catch a bus.

Xigbar growled in frustration, and glared down at the file he was still holding. He then took one look at a rapidly oncoming train, gave the finger to the nearest security camera, and tossed what he hoped was the only remaining copy of his personal file onto the tracks.

The small amount of joy he got from watching his file get obliterated by the train was cut off by the arrival of a few security officers, and he forced his body to start running again. Xigbar eventually lost them and was able to find a bus, ignoring the worried looks he got from the other passengers as he collapsed into a seat. There was a good chance Xehanort also had eyes on the bus, or would at least hear the news of a bloody, bruised wannabe pirate-looking freak riding a crowded public bus, but at this point he couldn’t care.

The bus ride was long, and Xigbar spent it drifting in and out of consciousness. He was barely functioning when it finally arrived in Hallow Bastion, and he stumbled off and away from the crowd with his only worry being the amount of internal bleeding he must have.

The last stable thoughts Xigbar had before passing out were that Xehanort had gotten his wish after all.


	5. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Xaldin meets Xigbar and is 1000% done with everything.  
> Also this chapter is really long for some reason.  
> But anyway, thanks for reading!

            Xaldin had been out of the Syndicate for almost two weeks now and had never felt more at peace. No more violence, no more long-winded reprimands from Xehanort, and it was a wonder what a release of all of that pressure had done for his anger management. He had even managed to obtain a great, roomy apartment and a decent job, and his life as an assassin thankfully seemed far behind him.

            At the moment, he was in an incredibly good mood, taking the long way home to give himself time to just appreciate being alive and free from any major worries. The outskirts of Hallow Bastion were almost always deserted, the perfect place to enjoy a calm afternoon and avoid any possible annoyances. The gloomy, doom-ridden tower of the Syndicate building could barely be seen in the distance, but it posed no threat to him here.

            His thoughts did briefly wander to the other assassin he had met not long before leaving, and the mission that assassin had assigned himself. Xaldin hoped he had, mostly because his own personal information was to be destroyed during it, but he also hoped he would ever see him again to ask. In fact, if he never saw any of the other assassins, or another nobody, or anything to do with the Syndicate besides the hazy view of the ridiculously tall tower, his life would be perfect.

            The thought had just barely crossed his mind when he caught sight of a vague, dark form lying a few yards outside of the city limits. His first instinct was to pretend he hadn’t seen it, act like it didn’t exist, and go on with the rest of his life. His second was just to act as though it wasn’t what he thought it was, which was an asinine notion. There was no mistaking that cloak anywhere, especially not when he had an identical one unceremoniously shoved under his bed at the apartment.

            Xaldin decided to just ignore it anyway. Who said it was his problem? The Syndicate was behind him, so he had absolutely no reason to investigate. He had made it to the end of the street, and was about to turn towards home when a sudden, nasty thought hit him and made his plan screech to a halt.

            If he had seen the body, how many _other_ people would see the body? Someone was sure to check it out, and call the police. The police were going to try and figure out where it had come from, and on the rare chance that they did indeed figure it out, the Syndicate would end up being investigated. Which meant if Lexaeus hadn’t succeeded in destroying his file, or on the likely chance that Xehanort had copies somewhere, they would find him. Then somewhere down the line, this random body lying in a field would lead to the end of Xaldin’s peaceful life.

            One frustrated growl later, Xaldin turned and made his way over to the body. All he had to do was dispose of it, right? An easy task for a seasoned murderer like himself. Then he could go back to his new life and forget that the situation had ever happened.

            While he may have tried to have doubts when he first noticed it, the body was definitely garbed in a Syndicate-assigned cloak. Further investigation revealed no sign of a struggle, so it was either dumped here or it had crawled out here to die. Xaldin vaguely worried if it wasn’t a trap of some sort, a warning from the Syndicate of what was to happen to him.

            He dispelled the thought, no matter why it was here, this body was a problem, and Xaldin needed to figure out an answer to it soon. First, he’d have to remove the coat and burn it? Shove it under his bed? Turn it over to a thrift shop? Of course, then there was the body itself, which he really didn’t want to shove under his bed, and a thrift shop wasn’t the best option for it. He could just dump it into the river, but that was such a lazy option. Plus it could be easily found. Xaldin paced in frustration, his anger rising to dangerous levels for the first time in two weeks, and he landed a hard kick to the corpse’s side.

            The resulting yelp caused Xaldin to freeze completely. As far as he knew, corpses did not yelp, not even when you kicked them. There was no mistaking it either, the corpse had definitely yelped. Now it was definitely struggling to sit up.

            “Who?” it asked harshly, turning to Xaldin, who was now trying to decide if killing him wasn’t the best option. No matter how complicated disposing of a corpse could be, it had to be easier than dealing with another assassin.

            “You’re supposed to be dead.” Xaldin responded bluntly, looking around for anything that could be used as a weapon in case it was some kind of trap. Besides, a corpse was almost definitely less of a problem than a live assassin.

            “Me, dead? As if.” The man waved a hand, but then slumped forward with a muffled whimper, and Xaldin reluctantly stopped hunting for a weapon. Unless this guy was a very good actor, he didn’t seem to pose any threat, and killing a guy in such a pathetic condition would be dishonorable on his part.

They stayed in silence for a few minutes, the only sounds present the should-have-been corpse’s belaboured breathing and the distant rumbling of the train. If the guy was alive and wasn’t going to do anything else, he should just go. Xaldin turned to walk away, and the man on the ground lunged towards him, grabbing a hold of his pant leg.

“Wait.” He huffed, but then was silent for a few seconds, as though he were trying to catch his breath. If that little bit of activity was enough to give the guy so much difficulty, then he was in terrible shape. Shameful, really. Had the Syndicate’s standards dropped so low?

The other man finally released Xaldin’s leg, moving his hands to shakily remove his hood. Xaldin inwardly winced at his appearance; the man looked like a movie monster, blood oozing from a nasty gash across his face, and one blood shot eye sunken into his face. “Xigbar.” The man spat, and then reached a tentative hand up to Xaldin.

Two weeks ago, Xaldin would have swatted his hand away and walked off without a second thought. Two weeks ago, Xaldin probably would have killed the man as soon as he dared grab a hold of him.

            Actually, two weeks ago Xaldin would have either ignored the “dead” body in the field, or would have been the one that put it there.

            Maybe he really was at peace. Or maybe he just really wanted to get home and was tired of standing in this field.

            “Xaldin.” He replied gruffly, grabbing Xigbar’s arm and yanking him up off the ground. He ignored the resulting yelp of pain, instead ordering him to pretend to be drunk if he didn’t want to attract too much attention and wind up dumped in an alley somewhere.

            Xigbar laughed, and Xaldin was slightly alarmed by how animated he sounded for someone who was supposedly half-dead. “No problem, buddy, s’not hard to pretend to be sloshed, not for me at least.” Xigbar stumbled, nearly dragging them both to the ground, and Xaldin really couldn’t tell if he was acting or if he actually was having difficulty walking.

            Xaldin wasn’t entirely sure why he jeopardizing his entire lifestyle by taking pity on this guy, but with Xigbar’s arm slung over his shoulder he half-lead, half-dragged the stumbling man back to his apartment.

* * *

 

            “Huh, nice place you’ve got here.” Xigbar had been generally quiet during the trip, focusing too much on just trying to stay in step with Xaldin without stumbling too much. However, he was now able to change his focus, and Xaldin was starting to get a bad feeling about his guest’s mouth.

            “Don’t get too comfortable.” He growled, helping (basically tossing) Xigbar onto the couch. “I’m not interested in a roommate.” Xaldin left him there and went to go dig his medical kit out from under the sink.

            “As if! All I’m saying is it seems like a waste to leave half of your apartment empty.”

            “I will be using it eventually, all _I’m_ saying is that as soon as you stop looking like a zombie you’re out of here.” He proceeded to drop the med kit onto Xigbar’s stomach without warning, enjoying the resulting grunt of pain. Xigbar took a second to figure out that he had been mildly assaulted with healing supplies before pushing himself up and heading into the bathroom.

* * *

 

            “Hey, is that one ‘a those wall beds?” Xigbar had reemerged from the bathroom about twenty minutes later and was now wandering around the empty side of Xaldin’s apartment.

            “Yes, it is. Now go sit back on the couch and watch tv or something. Don’t touch anything.” Xaldin didn’t even look up from his work in the kitchen.

            The thud and click of the bed sliding into place told Xaldin that Xigbar had not listened, and he suddenly got the impression that he was dealing with a (possibly dangerous) small child.

            “You know, I always thought if I hollowed one of these things correctly out it could make a decent gun rack.”

            “What the hell is wrong with you? Aren’t you supposed to be injured? Go sit back on the couch and shut up already.” Xaldin made his way over to Xigbar and shoved him away from the bed.

            “You sure you don’t get lonely in here?”

            “Positive.”

            Xigbar studied Xaldin’s face for a minute, and Xaldin began to grow extremely uncomfortable. If Xigbar didn’t change his attention to something else soon, he was going to get smacked upside the head, wound or no wound.

            “What’d you say your name was again?”

            “Xaldin. Good to know you listen.”

            “You seem awfully familiar for some reason.” Xaldin was definitely not feeling great about this situation, but before he could respond Xigbar had finally moved his attention to something else.

            “Is that a snake?” It was Xigbar’s turn to look uneasy.

            “Yes, Danzi. Leave her alone.”

            “As if, I’m not going anywhere near that thing.” Xigbar was silent for a few relieving seconds, before he clapped excitedly and pointed at Xaldin.

            “I know who you are now, how could I forget those sideburns?” Xigbar laughed. “You aren’t gonna believe this, I’m supposed to kill you. Funny how that works, eh?”

            Xaldin failed to find the humour in his statement. Instead he ripped Xigbar off the couch and shoved him out the door, slamming it in the one-eyed man’s face.

            “Hey, come on man, I wasn’t gonna go through with it!” Xigbar’s voice was muffled as if he was pressing his face right against the door. “I just thought it was interesting, you’re an assassin, I’m an assassin, it’s like fate or something how that all works out.”

            Xaldin ignored him, wishing he had just left the dumbass lying in the field. The one time he actually tried to be a decent human being and he ends up inviting his own murderer into his house for dinner. The whole situation was just proof that he should be a bitter, uncaring loner if he was going to keep his life the way he wanted it.

            Ignoring the pleading coming from outside his door, Xaldin went back to finish his dinner, staring in dismay at what was now an excess amount of food, and he _hated_ wasting his own cooking. He briefly wondered if Danzi would care for chicken before sighing and fixing the rest of the food onto a second plate. He hated leftovers, and he didn’t really have room in his fridge for them anyway.

            The guy was still yammering on in the hallway, and Xaldin briefly wondered how anyone could have that much to say. He opened the door, shoved the plate into Xigbar’s hands, and slammed it shut again, ignoring the confused “what?” that had left the other guy’s mouth. He immediately regretted his decision, feeding strays only led to problems, and now he was _never_ going to be able to get rid of this guy. How long until he got kicked out for attracting some obnoxious asshole who won’t leave the hallway?

            “Can I get a fork?” Xaldin suddenly remembered silverware. Oh well. Too bad for him.

“Nope. Figure it out yourself. And don’t break my plate.” There was an annoyed huff from the other side of the door, but Xigbar could be grateful that Xaldin had taken any pity on him at all.

Xaldin went on with his night as usual, pretending that there wasn’t a murderer waiting for him outside his apartment. He ignored the continued rambling (was the guy spouting his entire life story?), choosing instead to turn the volume up on the tv and hope the idiot would just leave.

* * *

 

He hadn’t realized he had drifted off until he woke with a start from a particularly nasty nightmare. He hadn’t had one of those since leaving the Syndicate, and he blamed this one entirely on Xigbar.

He peeled himself off the couch with a groan, flipping the tv off in order to calm himself in the resulting silence. Or he would have, if the silence wasn’t still being filled with an incredibly annoying voice that Xaldin was extremely tired of hearing at this point.

Now enraged, he grabbed one of his lances off of its spot on the wall and threw open the door. Xigbar, who had been leaning against the door, immediately fell backwards and Xaldin grabbed his shoulder and half dragged, half-threw the freeloader into the apartment.

“Shut. Up.” Xaldin pressed the lance against Xigbar’s throat, and Xigbar immediately grew silent, his eye wide with shock.

“Are you going to listen now?” Xigbar nodded silently, flinching when the movement caused the lance to scratch across his throat. “Good.” Xaldin pulled the weapon back, but kept it ready in case Xigbar tried anything. Xigbar, for once, was silent and hadn’t moved at all.

“I left the Syndicate under the premise that I was never going to have to deal with any of its bullshit from then on. And yet here you are, threatening to kill me.” At this Xigbar waved his hands and started to speak, only to be silenced and frozen again by a warning wave of the lance.

“I don’t want to hear your excuses. I just want you to crawl back to Xehanort and tell him I’m not interested in being one of his victims. Otherwise, I can send you back in a body bag as a warning. Now get the hell out of here.”

Xigbar didn’t move. Of course he didn’t. That would be too easy.

“As if.” He spat, and he dragged himself to his feet, glaring at Xaldin. “Do I look like I’d take orders from you, some coward who ran from the Syndicate probably because he couldn’t handle it? Oh, I’ll go back to the Syndicate, alright. I’ll go back and tell them all about your quaint little apartment and I’m sure-”

Xigbar didn’t get the chance to finish his sentence before Xaldin lunged at him, lance swinging right past his head. Xigbar moved quickly for someone in his condition, and managed to grab a knife off the kitchen counter, which he was waving wildly and awkwardly. It was apparent that the man had little to no hand to hand combat experience and Xaldin smirked triumphantly. He’d end up hiding a body tonight after all, but it was preferable to being dragged back to the Syndicate.

Xigbar suddenly lunged forward and Xaldin dodged, ramming his lance through his attacker’s stomach. Xigbar staggered, angrily jamming the knife into Xaldin’s chest before collapsing onto him. Xaldin shoved him off, withdrawing his lance and gasping in pain, before falling backwards. The last thing he remembered before being swallowed by the dark depths of unconsciousness was pulling the knife out of his chest and muttering to the other man that he better not even think of waking up.

* * *

 

            It wasn’t the first time Xigbar had woken up in a pool of his own blood from an injury he shouldn’t have survived, and it probably wouldn’t be the last. Hell, it wasn’t even the first time in the past two days. But it was infinitely better than not waking up at all.

            He struggled up onto his elbows, careful not to move too much and cause the bleeding to begin again. His eyesight was blurry, his head was pounding, and he worked to remember what exactly had happened. Apparently Xaldin couldn’t take a joke, and that somehow ended with him getting impaled. It seemed like a bit of an overreaction honestly, as if Xigbar would actually sell Xaldin out to the Syndicate.

            Well, actually, he might, and it wasn’t like he hadn’t thought about it earlier, but he was almost certain that would lead to his death as well. So he had decided against it, and so Xaldin had definitely been overreacting.

            Xigbar’s vision finally cleared enough that he could see Xaldin lying in a nearly identical position a few feet away, and he wasn’t entirely sure he was breathing at all. Well shit. Although, if he _was_ dead, did that give Xigbar ownership of the apartment?

            He lowered himself back down onto the ground, trying to ignore the growing pain that came with his body waking back up. He laid there for a while, contemplating what to do next. He certainly couldn’t lay here for the rest of his life (which wouldn’t be that long if he didn’t clean himself up soon) and he wasn’t exactly keen on having to hide the body, the lower nobodies had always been ordered to do that for him.

            Maybe the other guy wasn’t dead after all? Xigbar’s own injuries had to be much worse, after all, so of course Xaldin had to have survived.

            “Hey. Asshole. You still breathing?” No response. Xigbar reached for a pillow that had fallen to the floor at some point, and, without looking, weakly tossed it in Xaldin’s direction. It hit something with a small “poft” and Xigbar waited for any kind of reaction. There still wasn’t one. Damn.

            “Hey, dipshit, you didn’t seem like the type to be taken down that easily. What’s wrong with you?” Still no response. Xigbar grinned. If this guy died so easily, it was just proof that Xigbar was still better than any Syndicate member he had met so far. Not that he had met that many, but still.

            “Nice going, moron, I wasn’t even actually going to kill you.” Xigbar finally struggled to his feet, careful not to slip and fall, as he wasn’t sure if he’d be able to get back up if he did.

            “Oh, you weren’t going to kill me, you mean I overreacted like a huge doofus?” Xigbar lowered his voice, mocking the man lying on the floor.

            “Of _course_ not, douchebag, and if you had just waited five seconds I would have told you I’m not even part of the Syndicate anymore.” Xigbar paused at Xaldin’s side, observing the body in front of him. He really hadn’t wanted to kill him. Bummer.

            “Huh. Idiot.” Xigbar nudged at Xaldin’s side with his foot.

            “If you keep calling me names, I _will_ stab you again.” Xaldin’s sudden words caused Xigbar to flinch backwards, and he almost tripped over the coffee table. He shakily recomposed himself and grinned like an idiot.

            “Xally! You lived!” Xaldin responded by kicking up at Xigbar, knocking him backwards over the table and onto the ground with a groan.

            “If I ever hear you call me that again I will not hesitate to rip out your tongue.”

            “Uf. Sounds… kinky.” Xigbar sat back up to see Xaldin glaring at him and pulling himself onto his feet. Xaldin then turned his disgust to the mess they had made, muttering something about the security deposit under his breath.

            “So you aren’t a part of the Syndicate anymore?” Xaldin eyed him suspiciously while attempting to wipe the already drying blood off of his lance.

            “As if! I ditched those losers a while ago.”

            “Does that have any connection to your condition yesterday?” Xigbar shrugged in response, and debated telling him what had happened with Xehanort, but decided against it. If Xaldin though he was going to bring even more problems, he was more likely to kick him out again.

            “So you were actually awake earlier?” Xigbar didn’t look up, instead keeping his attention on the stained carpet.

            “I was hoping that if I seemed dead, you would leave.” Xaldin stated dryly. “But since you still haven’t, I’m having second thoughts.” He bent down, picking up the scatted pillows and the misplaced knife, obviously stalling, before turning to Xigbar again. “I suggest you stay here. At least then I can make sure you aren’t off selling me out to someone.” Xaldin turned to stalk off to the bathroom, tossing a bottle of bleach at Xigbar before slamming the door behind him. Xigbar heard the click of a lock and stared down at the bottle in his hands. Apparently Xaldin expected him to clean up. Pfft. As if.

            Xigbar dumped the entire bottle of bleach onto the carpet before settling himself down onto the couch with the first aid kit Xaldin had supplied earlier.

* * *

 

            Xaldin just about killed Xigbar again when he saw the extra mess that had been made, and Xigbar ended up camping out in the locked bathroom that night for his own safety. He stayed there until Xaldin left, either because he was fed up or had work or a date or something. Xigbar didn’t know, and really didn’t care.

            All he wanted to do was see about turning that bed into a gun rack before his “roommate” came back.


	6. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Luxord is here being cool, and Demyx finally shows up. =D   
> Thanks for reading!

“If you are of the mindset that you have attained all of the good fortune in the world, are there any risks you won’t take?” No answer from his companion. Luxord laughed slightly, not enough to be impolite, before continuing. “At that point, could they even be considered risks?”

Again, no response.

“Not much for conversation, hmm? Of course, not that I would expect you to be.” Luxord carefully pulled the arsenic laced cards from under the other gambler’s hands, his gloves protecting him from the small fiberglass fragments embedded in the deck. The man across from him hadn’t been so lucky, the shards cutting into his skin without much notice, embedding the poison in his tissues and ultimately leading to his time being cut short. It was a rather ingenious mechanism he had devised, his victims were quite literally gambling with their lives.

He glanced back over at the body sitting across from him. “No need to look so glum, mate, your troubles are all over at this point. Now I just need to see what I can do about mine.” The thought struck him again that he had no idea who this man really was, and he had even less of an idea as to why Xehanort had wanted him dead. His opponent had been jovial and polite, and an overall decent fellow, not one of Xehanort’s usual targets. Yet Luxord had carried through with the assassination anyway.

It was regrettable perhaps, although Luxord was never one to allow himself time for regrets. To die by Luxord’s hand had just been the man’s fate.

The gambler sat back to ponder his own fate. Xehanort’s ideals were beginning to lose appeal, his boss was withholding more and more information every single time they met, and Luxord could easily see himself drifting away from the Syndicate without any qualms. It may be a risk, but what were risks to him? He was either fated to succeed or not, but either way he was being led away from the Syndicate. The only question now was _how_?

Luxord was certain he had an answer for that as well. It was risky, as all moves against the Syndicate were, but certainly his luck outweighed the risk? Without hesitation, Luxord pulled out his phone, dialing his boss’ number.

“Xehanort!” he gasped into the phone. “I require backup, something has gone-“ He paused drawing his pistol to shoot at the corpse, kicking the table over with a loud clang for good measure. “-terribly wrong.” He coughed violently, and without waiting for a response slammed his phone into the nearest wall, shattering it.

He knew he only had minutes now before lesser nobodies flooded the scene and so without a second thought he withdrew a tiny vial of tetrodotoxin, downing it with the hopes that it would give him the desired façade of death instead of actual death. The poison took affect almost instantly, and Luxord collapsed dizzily to the ground, trusting that he was not fated to die tonight.

* * *

 

“Couldn’t one of you guys carry this thing?” A nasally, vaguely whiny voice was the first thing to greet him when he began to regain consciousness. Despite only being partially aware of the situation, it did not take much thought to figure out “this thing” was his body. If the owner of the voice had been actually carrying him Luxord would have understood the complaint; however, he was fairly certain he was just being dragged more so than being carried.

“Sorry, sir, but we underlings are not authorized to transport the bodies of fallen assassins as they must be treated with an utmost respect that could only be held by another assassin.” Utmost respect? That’s an odd term for being dragged around as though he were a sack of potatoes.

The person carrying him turned and Luxord had to bite the insides of his mouth to keep from yelping in pain as something heavy slammed into his side. He was suddenly dropped to the ground as whoever was carrying him actually did yelp.

“Arpeggio, oh no!” He whined, and there was an unfamiliar clicking noise. Arpeggio? Was it some kind of cased weapon, or a code word? Luxord debated trying to see what “Arpeggio” referred to, but was interrupted by one of the lesser nobodies.

“Well, this looks like a good enough place.”

“Really? That’s great!” The voice was considerably less whiny, but just as nasally, and Luxord got the impression that its owner was not very old. “Although… This doesn’t seem like the most secure part of town to dump a body?”

“You would be correct, sir.”

“Wait, what are you-?!” This time there was a very recognizable click, and Luxord did not waste any more time, abruptly launching himself up and towards the direction of the rifle click. He knocked into the gunner just in time, the rifle blasting a shot into a nearby dumpster instead of into the assassin that had been charged with his body. Unfortunately Luxord was dizzy, and the ringing of the rifle shot in his ears did not help his situation anyway. He turned towards the other assassin, hoping for back up, but instead witnessed the kid screaming and tearing off down the street.

Luxord threw himself to the side to avoid the butt of the rifle sailing towards him, and drew his pistol. He attempted to take out the two lesser nobodies, but his aim was still off, and the remaining bullets were uselessly emptied into the air.

Anyone else would have been worried at this point, but Luxord loved to gamble, and despite the apparent odds he was still certain luck was on his side. He dug a heavy silver pocket watch out of his cloak and lunged forward, swinging the watch up into the side of one attacker’s skull. The nobody crumpled into his partner, knocking the rifle out of his hands. Luxord dove for the weapon, and despite still fighting dizziness the shot was not missed this time, and both nobodies fell still.

Luxord shook his head, finally taking the necessary reprieve to chase away the last dregs of disorientation befuddling his conscious. A loud crack rang out behind him, and his spun, drawing the rifle up to meet the other assassin, who was staring down at the ground in shock. When he realized the rifle was aimed in his direction, the kid jumped back in alarm, protectively drawing what looked like an oversized guitar case in front of his.

A groan from the ground caught Luxord’s attention and he realized a third nobody was struggling to get up, knife in hand. Another shot of the rifle and the final attacker laid still. The kid backed away, distress apparent on his face, and Luxord just shrugged.

“It was them or us, kid. Can’t say I’ve met too many other assassins who are that uncomfortable with death.”

The kid nodded, but still looked slightly traumatized. How’d he get this job if he was so stressed by this situation? Maybe it was just the fact that the Syndicate had apparently betrayed him.

“Uh, thanks for not being dead, I guess. Sorry for dragging you all over the ground.” The kid changed the subject, flipping one of the latches on the case, which must have been the clicking Luxord had heard earlier. “In my defense, you were kinda heavy though.”

Luxord considered feigning offense, but he wasn’t sure if his new companion would pick up on the joke. Instead, he nodded slightly and replied. “Of course, but it is thanks to you that I am alive at all. I thought for certain you had left, but instead it turns out that you are quite capable with that instrument of yours.”

The kid became visibly flustered, his face turning bright red, and he ran a hand through his hair a few times before calming down and gesturing vaguely behind him. “This is, uh, just the case, didn’t want to hurt Arpeggio and all.” Luxord raised an eyebrow and the kid jumped, before disappearing down the street again, returning with the case in one hand and a large, blue instrument in the other. So that must be Arpeggio. Great, well that was one mystery solved. Now he just had to figure out who exactly this kid was. Well, there was probably an easy solution to that.

“Luxord,” he said, extending a hand to the kid, who stared blankly for a few seconds before awkwardly juggling with the instrument and its case, before finally getting them combined and slung over his back. The kid grabbed his hand, grip surprisingly solid and replied, “Demyx.” They both nodded and withdrew their hands, before returning to silence. Luxord scanned the area for any lurking dangers, and Demyx shoved both hands in his pockets and started rocking back and forth slightly on his feet glancing around nervously.

Sudden movement from down the street caught their attention, and despite it just being some people returning to their homes, it made both Luxord and Demyx realize how bad their situation would be if they were caught, standing there over three dead bodies with matching suspicious coats. They exchanged a silent glance before both taking off quickly down the street, Luxord in the lead.

He wasn’t exactly sure where he could go, especially not with his new tag-along, but surely luck would guide him somewhere.


	7. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is really late I'm sorry, school happened. This chapter features Marluxia, who was actually originally the inspiration for this AU.   
> Thank you for reading!!

            If a visual representation of organized chaos had ever existed, Marluxia was sure this had to be it. The furniture was demolished. His favorite plush armchair was torn to shreds, flaps of fabric and stuffing springing from the tears, as though it was internal organs and skin hanging off. A horribly expensive glass table broken with such force that the glass shattered and spread wildly, a constellation of danger and pain scattered from mangled table frame to blood spattered walls. A meticulously posed body lay draped across the broken armchair, smoking slightly from the spark spitting television set that replaced where the head would have been. Even worse than that, a collection of rare, exotic, and most certainly illegal to have acquired plants of various types were completely shredded, destroyed beyond any repair.

            Marluxia had gone to great lengths to stage this scene, plotting the intricate details for weeks. He had even found a nearly perfect body double for himself (he wasn’t sure if anyone existed who could perfectly match his physique, but the guy was close enough). Despite all of his effort, in the back of his mind he was still kicking himself. As artfully posed as his once gorgeous loft was, it would never fool the Syndicate for any lengthy amount of time. In all likelihood, he would have to settle for burying himself in the growing population of Hallow Bastion and hope for the best.

            Of course, he could just kill anyone who came after him. That would also work.

            He sighed, and began collecting up the few things he was taking with him, picking through the tattered scraps of fabric and blood splattered petals to recover a few plant cuttings and a couple of scattered gardening supplies. He really couldn’t afford to take much, even without trying to fool the Syndicate. He didn’t want to become a pack mule, and besides, starting over almost completely was an interesting venture.

            Marluxia had internally debated leaving both his Syndicate cloak and his favorite scythe behind, but ultimately could not bear to part with either. The cloak was much too useful, and the scythe was the closest thing he had to a prized possession, especially now that all of his plants were gone. He was well aware, however unfortunate it may be, that having both objects missing from the scene would raise a giant red flag to the Syndicate, and may well be what betrayed the fact that he was not actually dead.

            Ah well, they would figure it out eventually either way, so what was the point of leaving those behind? Besides, evening was falling, and so it was time to leave. The loft would have to stay as it was, it was really too late to do anymore, and so it would just be a waste of time to spend another minute worrying about staging. He took one last look at the bittersweet masterpiece before making his way carefully out a window onto the roof of the building next to his.

* * *

 

            He treaded lightly across the building tops, grateful for how close the buildings in the town were to each other. How often had he traveled this way? The rooftops were simply the most convenient, none of his victims ever thought to check the roofs for their impending doom. People in the towns were so blind to their surroundings, it was absolutely pathetic. No wonder Xehanort had chosen the location he had; his corrupt dealings were completely ignored by the citizens.

            Marluxia himself on the other hand was almost always in the public eye; or at least the “Black Rose” was. A rather prolific serial killer, named for his black rose “calling card”, although he much preferred the Syndicate given title of the “Graceful Assassin”. It was more accurate at least; he killed people for a price. Usually.

            Of course he had been doing this, following his calling, long before the Syndicate ever got involved, and now he would continue long after cutting the Syndicate out of his life. Something was changing in the Syndicate, Xehanort was acting strangely, sending Marluxia out on either boring, incredibly safe missions that were carried out drudgingly, or incredibly risky missions that were obviously meant to get him caught or killed. Of course, nothing of the sort happened, as Marluxia was the best and didn’t mind the challenges at all. (Of course, he was still very bitter that he had lost one of his targets, but he guessed that was why she was also a Syndicate member. If he remembered correctly, she still wound up murdered, shoved off the clock tower by a different assassin; of course, not until after he had personally given her enough wounds to kill any normal person. That mission had actually been the breaking point; how dare they double book one of his assassinations?)

            Lost in thought, he almost didn’t hear the footsteps behind him, echoing lightly off the roof in perfect time with his own. Someone smaller than him, which would most likely make them faster if they were to attack. Which, _of course_ they were going to attack; they wouldn’t be following him if they weren’t. He stopped abruptly, and stood for a few seconds, just waiting for his “assassin” to make the first move. However, they seemed to be waiting for him to do the same.

            “Care to introduce yourself?” He asked, his tone only partially mocking. It would be interesting to see who exactly Xehanort thought would be able to take him down.

            “Tch. Not really in the mood to waste my breath. Not like you’ll remember it when you’re dead anyway.” Marluxia grinned. His opponent was a woman, and he had heard the rumors that there were only two women in the Syndicate, at least assassin level. He was also well aware that one was viciously deadly, and since it hadn’t been the one he fought previously, it had to be her. This would be fun.

            “It’s a beautiful night,” he said, turning to her while drawing his scythe, very glad now he hadn’t left it behind. “I’m sure blood will reflect the moonlight beautifully.”

            “Hmph. It’s too bad I have to kill you; I was thinking the same thing.” His opponent was lazily twirling a couple of throwing knives, obviously unthreatened by Marluxia’s not so vague threat. Not that he was threatened by her in the slightest, but her lack of respect or fear was frustrating, to say the least. Hopefully she put up enough fight to lend credit to the rumors.

            “Well then.” He bowed exaggeratedly, before resting his scythe on his shoulder and holding out a hand. “Shall we dance?”


	8. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *shows up two months late with a somewhat fight scene* I am still writing this woo. (Happy MarLarx day, anyone?)

This guy was much faster than she had expected him to be, once he finally stopped yapping and started fighting. His surprising speed had almost ended the fight right then, but she was still quicker. She dodged last minute and even managed to land the first blow; albeit a very light glance off his shoulder.

It did not seem to affect him at all, and within seconds he was swinging his massive scythe again. There was no way someone wielding such a ridiculously oversized weapon should be so quick, so dangerous, but she was finding herself caught off guard. Barely minutes in and she was struggling to catch up to the speed of the fight.

The scythe biting into her side woke her up, bringing her back into the swing of the battle, and she stabbed backwards, thrilled as the knife dug into his chest. She let it go, and dodged away from him, only to snap her wrist up and catch her own knife that he had thrown back at her.

He was running forward again, and she ducked to the side, swinging her arm up to catch him across the face. He hissed in pain and she slid past him, turning to drag her knives like claws against his back.

Larxene was winded by the end of his scythe jabbing backwards into her chest, rolling out of the way as the blade of his weapon barely missed her. The wound in her side was starting to bleed heavier, and she blindly tossed a knife in his direction, cursing as he easily deflected it.

“They seriously sent you to kill me? Were you the only one left, or did they overestimate your abilities?” It was a lot of talk from someone who was in worse shape than she was, but it enraged her all the same, and she lunged forward, jumping over the scythe to crash a kick into his chest, knocking him backwards towards the edge of the building.

Her victory was cut short as he drew his scythe towards them both quickly, tossing her to the side with it, leaving a long wound up and across her back in the process.

She braced herself for a finishing blow but he seemed to be watching her, and she growled in fury as she realized he was toying with her. Larxene pushed herself up off the ground tossing knives in his direction to hold his attention as she ran towards him, intent on tackling him off the building. If that’s what it took to win then that’s what she’d have to do.

Unfortunately, one quick move from him and it was all over. He cracked her upside the head with the end of his scythe, and dizziness kicked in immediately. Staggered, she attempted to swiftly back away from him, dodging entirely too close to the edge of the building. Unable to catch her balance, she found herself falling backwards, cursing him as she fell. Larxene was expecting the worst, and maybe the worst would have been better than hitting a fire escape before landing on the ground in a heap of pain and anger.

All too aware that the other assassin was still nearby, she attempted to get up and prepare herself for further attacks only to find herself collapsing against the wall. She had lost too much blood, and was forced to hope he would assume she was dead. Which was not at all likely.

“You know, you’re pretty good.” Her target had dropped down off the building, landing in front of her. If his wounds were giving him any problem whatsoever, it didn’t show.

“Look, you won. Just fucking get on with it, kill me, it’s not like I can go back to the Syndicate after this anyway.”

To her surprise and confusion, he sat down next to her, back against the wall. He focused his attention on something in a window above them, seemingly ignoring the fact that she could very easily take this opportunity to slash his throat. She reached for her knives but was still too dizzy too grasp them correctly, and so she dropped that idea. For now at least.

They sat in silence, and Larxene became gradually more and more frustrated. What was this guy’s deal? Was he just going to sit there until she was ready to fight again?

What an asshole.

 “Seriously, what do you wa-”

“Let’s open a flower shop.” What? Larxene didn’t even know how to begin to respond. He glanced down at her, smiling slightly, which only increased her confusion and her anger. Forget slicing his throat, she just wanted to punch that smug, condescending expression off of his face.

“Those flowers up there have inspired me.” He nodded towards the window he had been watching, and she stared at him blankly. Was this guy even real, or was this some weird dream she was having as she bled out? If that was the case, she wished it would happen faster. She turned away and closed her eyes, hoping he, whether real or imaginary, would get the hint.

He didn’t.

“They are daffodils, a well-known symbol of rebirth and new beginnings.” He was continuing, apparently still under the impression that she cared at all. “Let us take this as a sign, and begin our lives anew, somewhere not under the hold of the Syndicate.” Her opponent was silent, expectant, like his little speech would be enough to convince her to join whatever bullshit cause he had.

“Is there a flower that says ‘fuck off’?” She replied, without even bothering to open her eyes.

“Well, a striped carnation does represent a refusal, and I’m assuming that is what your statement entails.” Larxene heard him move quickly beside her, and flinched away, her eyes opening to watch him warily. The man stretched, and gave his obnoxiously large scythe a few swings before turning to her, and in the dawning light she pridefully noted that he was also covered in wounds, including one rather nasty black eye on his pretentious face.

“Then I do believe that this is where our paths diverge.” He bowed, mockingly, and turned to leave. “Try to not let the Syndicate catch you, I doubt you would last long in your condition.”

Anger boiled up in her chest and again, and she shoved herself off the ground to lunge at his retreating form. There was no way he was just going to walk away from her, she didn’t lose her targets so easily. He sidestepped her easily, grabbing her arm to balance her. She pulled her arm back and shoved him away. How could he still be so quick to react when he had to be just as dizzy as she was?

“Do you really think our fight is over?” Her voice was still strained but she didn’t back down, she wouldn’t lose to this asshole. He raised an eyebrow, before jumping backwards, putting distance between them to swing his scythe. She ducked, dashing forward under the weapon to swing her elbow hard into his stomach then punching up into his arms as he tried to catch his breath. The clatter of the scythe hitting the ground was music to her ears, and she shoved him backwards, away from it and against a wall.

Finally she had the upper hand, as she should have through the entire situation she thought as she casually pressed a knife to his throat, grinning as he struggled to maintain his composed expression.

“Any final words?” A thin trickle of blood had appeared where her knife met his skin, and yet his infuriating smirk was back, as though he still had the upper hand.

“I could ask you the same thing.” She narrowed her eyes, only to freeze when she felt cool metal press against her stomach through a rip in her cloak. He had somehow produced a much smaller hand scythe from the folds of his cloak, and now they were both equally in danger again.

Her thoughts raced as the standoff persisted for minutes that seemed to stretch into hours, looking for any sign of surrender in his eyes, wondering when he was going to act, wondering why she hadn’t yet. He seemed just as exhausted as she felt, but his eyes still seemed to be plotting, smug, and it made her feel that even if she slit his throat, he would somehow still win.

But she refused to be the first to relax her position.

“Go ahead, Larxene.” He purred, dropping his arm to his side, releasing her from the danger she was in, giving her full power again. Which only increased her suspicion. How did he know her name anyway?

“What’s your game?”

“Well, does it really matter if I kill you or you kill me? Both situations end with your death.”

“Explain yourself, asshole.” She pressed the knife harder, appreciating the sharp intake of breath from him as he tried to hide his reaction to the pain.

“You do realize that the Syndicate has decided us obsolete, or have you been blind to the events that have occurred lately? We are being replaced, Xehanort has some new plan apparently, and we are not a part. Or did you not think it strange that he would assign you to assassinate another assassin?”

“You’re a traitor. You left.”

“Only a few hours ago. I am assuming you received your orders before then?” He was right, and she suddenly had more questions that only he could answer, and she drew back a bit.

“Then why did he call you a traitor?”

“Only because we all are traitors to him now, we do not fit his plans and so by his logic we must be against him, and as such we must be eradicated.”

“So you’re saying that you’re sure he’s going to kill me if I stay?”

“I cannot be sure of anything, but I do not see why he would choose to keep only you around and kill off the rest of us.”

“Excuse you?”

“Xehanort does not see your use, but I do.”

“I’m not something to be _used_ by anyone.” The knife was back biting into his throat and she looked forward to seeing the life drain out of his eyes. Even if she decided he was telling the truth and didn’t go back to the Syndicate, it wasn’t like she couldn’t just kill him anyway. It’s not like anyone would miss an asshole like him anyway.

But then again, what was the point of killing him, he wasn’t even fighting back. He had given up, and that made for a boring kill. She snarled, and withdrew the knife again, still keeping it ready to strike if he dared to make a move.

“What’s your big plan then?” He was pressing his hand against his neck, but smirked at her question.

“A flower shop.”

She should have killed him.


End file.
